


Toss A Coin To Your Witcher

by ellyiggy



Category: Eurovision Song Contest RPF, Festival di Sanremo RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - The Witcher Fusion, Ermal!Jaskier, Fabrizio!Geralt, Gen, I'd pay for these cosplays, M/M, someone please give Ermal a lute, tutto burbero tutto incazzato (cit), unappreciated artist
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:01:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24111742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellyiggy/pseuds/ellyiggy
Summary: “I love the way you just… sit in the corner and brood.”Fabrizio didn’t even cast a single glance at him. “I’m here to drink alone.” He said matter of factly.Ermal pressed his lips together and crossed his arms. “Good. Yeah, good.”
Relationships: Ermal Meta/Fabrizio Moro
Comments: 9
Kudos: 10





	Toss A Coin To Your Witcher

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JokerSmiles](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JokerSmiles/gifts).
  * A translation of [Dona un soldo al tuo Witcher](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24111598) by [ellyiggy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellyiggy/pseuds/ellyiggy). 



_Cabbage stew_

_Mushroom stew_

_Bean stew_

_Beef stew_

_Leek stew_

_Pottage stew_

  
  


_Wow, what a remarkable variety_ , Ermal thought with a hint of irony as he read what Posada’s tavern had to serve that day. Just as he was about to lose any hope and give up, he grasped one last thing hiding right at the end of the list of meals. He quickly unfolded the ruined paper with his fingertips and tried to read those few words. Even though calling those scrawled signs “ _words_ ” would have probably been too flattering, as they were written in a barely readable handwriting.

  
  


_Posada creamy stew_

  
  


Just the umpteenth type of stew in that short list. And apparently it was also the most expensive one, Ermal found out, for the mere reason of having thick slices of brown bread as bowl.

Ermal sighed and moved a curl away from his eyes. Honestly, what did he expect? After all, it was indeed a simple, small tavern, clearly the ideal place for customers who had no intention of paying too many coins for their meal. And stew was the mainstay of the peasant diet. Admittedly, Ermal would have gladly eaten something different for once, used as he was to eating the all-alike tasteless soups and stews of the towns he passed by, but he guessed this time wouldn’t be any different.

Finally stepping inside the tavern, it was easy for him to spot an empty table in the corner. He darted around the place, noticing the tavern was rather crowded: most men were unsurprisingly already drunk, filling their bellies with ale, while a bald guy was laughing so much and so loud that the table trembled and Ermal could already picture that ridiculous amounts of food ending up on the floor. He certainly couldn’t hold back an amused smile when a slice of bread actually touched the floor.

A blonde girl appeared in front of Ermal. She was garbed in a white and greenish dress with off the shoulder sleeves and a tie up front.

“What can I serve you, sir?”

Ermal thought back to the different types of stew he had just read, trying to come out with the most tasty one, before eventually saying, “Whatever is best tonight, thank you.” He smiled.

The girl nodded, eyeing him curiously. “You’re not from here, aren’t you?”

Her gaze lingered on Ermal’s rather flamboyant clothing, which undeniably stood out among the dull and gloomy colors of the tavern. He was wearing high waist red breeches perfectly matched with a dark red doublet, laced in the front with billowy sleeves, and a jerkin tight on his hips.

“Yeah, exactly,” his lips curved in a smile, “I travel around. I’m a bard, actually.” He stated with a gleam of pride in his dark eyes. The girl’s eyes widened with wonder as Ermal took the lute he was keeping on his back.

“Ohhh, I love music!” She exclaimed, “There are many customers tonight… I’m afraid you’ll have to wait a bit for your meal. In the meantime, would you mind singing something for the tavern, sir?” There was no way Ermal could possibly refuse, as there was nothing he loved more than music and his beloved lute in particular. And so he took his loyal companion in his hands and began to improvise something. His long thin fingers plucked the strings and a cheerful melody filled the room.

_Mi serve un pieno di speranza_

_ma non ho una lira_

As soon as Ermal began to play the first notes, the other customers looked towards him and gave him a little attention. _Well, not a bad start, right?_

_Mutano le favole, Biancaneve sulla strada  
Lavora e aspetta il suo re_

_Musicisti e puttane che neanche a carnevale  
roba da far venire la pelle d'oca al cuore_

Only now did the chatter weaken remarkably; the men had rested their beers on the table and were now staring fixedly at the young man with disapproval.

The bard continued to sing, anyways. He rose from his chair and started to go around the tables singing loudly and plucking the strings full of enthusiasm.

_Ehi bionda, sei pure tu qui da sola_  
_Io me ne andrei a fare un giro con la mia vita_  
_Vuoi venire con me?_

_Ehi, bionda, beato chi ti sposa_

_così bella che è gelosa anche la luna_

“Sit down and be silent!”

Ermal was abruptly interrupted by flying bread. Yeah, flying bread and cheese, followed by loud shouts and unkind complains.

“Pfff unbelievable!”

Two visibly outraged women from the opposite direction were whispering something to each other, probably whining about the bard’s song. A group of men, on the other hand, were scowling at him while throwing food in his direction. Ermal moved around, trying to dodge the pieces of cheese and morsels of bread. He huffed. Those people didn’t deserve to listen to his music, after all.

“I’m so glad that I could bring you all together like this. By the way, you can’t even appreciate and recognize real art!” He opened his arms wide, in very emphatic, almost theatrical fashion.

Just a few moments later, people went back to drink and eat, ignoring the bard as if nothing had happened. Putting up a childish grimace, Ermal lowered down to collect the food on the floor. Well, he was not the kind of person who wasted food, after all. While he was eating a piece of bread, he glimpsed a lonely man sitting at the table in the far corner, almost hidden by the dark. He headed towards that table, seeing that the man was silently staring at the glass in front of him with a serious face.

“I love the way you just… sit in the corner and _brood_.”

The man didn’t even cast a single glance at him. “I’m here to drink alone.” He said matter of factly.

Ermal pressed his lips together and crossed his arms. “Good. Yeah, good.”

The innkeeper, a short, thickset man with a ruddy face and a clumsy wobble, was coming towards them. “Here’s the orange liquor you asked, sir. If you really like this… thing.” He grimaced and put a full pitcher on the table. Ermal cast a sidelong glance at the pitcher, out of curiosity, not really understanding why orange liquor was supposed to taste that bad. However, he preferred to focus on that mysterious stranger, instead.

“As I’m sure you’ve just witnessed, no one else really hesitated to comment on the quality of my performance, except… for you.” He gave a small smirk noticing that this had finally managed to shift the man’s gaze from his glass to the bard’s face. “Come on,” he insisted, his head tilted slightly, thus making his curly dark hair brush against his shoulder. “You must have some review for me…” he waited for the hint of any kind of reaction from the other man but when he saw his expression hadn’t faltered, he continued, “Three words or less.”

The other man poured himself a glass of liquor. “They don’t exist.”

Apparently he had given up pretending not to notice him, and had decided to talk to him since the bold bard had already taken a seat at his table, completely uninvited, by the way.

A look of puzzlement crossed Ermal’s face. “ _What_ don’t exist?” he asked with fidgety hands, giving him a dazed look.

“All the creatures in your song. What you bards always sing about.”

“And how do you know that?” Then the bard stopped, and peered intently at him catching details he had missed until now, starting with a telling wolf medallion around his neck and some weapons, and last but not least the sleeveless blackish shirt which showed some particular tattoos on the man’s muscular arms. “Oh fun. Golden eyes, big old loner, that medallion with a wolf, two very… _very_ scary-looking swords. I know who you are.” He said triumphantly. He didn’t have time to add something more, because the other man had stood up all of a sudden, and walked away from the table leaving the bard behind him with a confused look. But a bard like Ermal couldn’t certainly afford to miss out such an opportunity, could he? And so he followed him immediately, “Wait, wait… you’re the Witcher, Fabrizio di Rivia! Am I right?”

Fabrizio ignored him completely and walked away, heading towards his reserved room for the night.

The following morning, the Posada weather seemed to be unreasonably warm as Fabrizio descended the hill, slowly leading his beloved horse down the path. All of a sudden he heard some noise coming from behind him. He turned just in time to see the bard running towards him, panting and hurrying in order to reach him in time. As he ran, his lute moved dangerously, threatening to fall at any moment, and his curly hair had become all messy.

Fabrizio rolled his eyes and sighed heavily, but to Ermal’s surprise, he stopped and waited for him. “Witcher, you got a mission, right?” Ermal had to catch his breath before continuing, “I saw you talking with those peasants yesterday. Need a hand? I’ve got two.”

“Go away, bard.”

The witcher didn’t even notice Ermal’s pout of pretended annoyance because he just kept walking on his way with his horse.

“I won’t be but silent back-up, I promise!”

Fabrizio stopped and turned to face him. “Well, I can’t really say you seem like it.”

“Ok ok, but I thought about it and I realized you’re right. You’re a witcher and I’m sure that real adventures will make better stories.”

Honestly, Fabrizio was astonished at how wildly the bard could gesticulate during his short, passionate speech.

“And you, sir, smell chock-full of them,” Ermal continued with a childish gleam in his eyes. “You smell of death and destiny. Heroics and heartbreak. Ohhh,” his face brightened up with sudden dramatic passion, “I could be the bard playing songs about you and your real, exciting adventures against monsters and creatures.”

Fabrizio ran a hand through his short black hair. “Alright bard, you can follow me on this mission, so at least you’ll see how real creatures are, mhh?”

Ermal’s eyes widened with pure joy and a happy smile twisted his thin lips. “Perfect! My name is not _bard_ , though… I’m Ermal. But you can call me Dandelion, if you like.”

“ _Dandelion_?” Fabrizio repeated, finally showing an actual smile, albeit a little amused.

Ermal blinked. Had he known that would be enough to make the broody witcher smile, he’d have told him his stage name the night before. “Yeah, like the flower. I like yellow flowers.”

As soon as they continued their path, the bard took his lute and began to play, singing loudly:

“I’ll spread the tales of Fabrizio of Rivia,

 _i_ _l Lupo Moro!_ ”


End file.
